


Touch

by AtticusBattery01



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtticusBattery01/pseuds/AtticusBattery01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the most intimate moments between a Bog King and his fairy princess, Marianne, can get interrupted by official business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

Disclaimer: Strange Magic is copyrighted under Disney and Lucasfilm.

Author Notes: This fan fiction is based on the Butterfly Bog fancomic: Touch by YoungTitan213 (tumblr). I wrote it as a gift to a kind friend because her wonderful art inspired this wordsmith into creating something great. Warning: Naughty shenanigans ensue. 

The story is dedicated to YoungTitan213. Your art is nothing short of sublime. In six pages, you depicted the true romantic canon of this strange magical couple. Kudos! I only hope my words live up to your art skills. 

Butterfly kisses. 

It always began this way. 

Her wide, shapely wings, fluttering like carved delicate amethysts, her lithe naked body hovered just above his rough hued form as their lips meet in a tentative kiss. Her rose petal jerkin, boots, and sword thrown higgilty piggilty across the floor; her black thorn leggings now a hanging display on the suspending bed vines like an out of season Yule decoration. 

Her cider colored eyes, half closed under that persistent bang wisp. Its annoying habit of falling onto that pert nose forgotten as her hands moved whisper soft over his leaf-crown head scales. He could feel her breasts brush against his heated armor. Bog ran a long finger along the jawline of her heart shaped face. Elongated ears curled and twitched as their kiss deepen as her strong paramour gathered her up in his long, thin chitinous arms. His tapered, elegant hands traced a wonderland of hard-soft sensations along her spine as his claws teased feather-like patterns downward, and cupped her perfect arse. 

She let out muffed sigh and her tongue swept a slick path across his lips, trailing a thin line of saliva as their tongues danced. He groaned deep in his thorax. His carapace kritchted as her full weight was on him as she tucked her butterfly wings, and straddled his slim armored hips.

“You still wanna to do this?” Marianne leaned forward on his plated chest. Those perfectly formed rose budded breasts with their dagger hard nipples made it very difficult for the King of the Dark Forest of concentrate at the moment of form a witty reply. Her expression- half challenge half lust- made his knees turn to peat moss whenever she looked at him.

Bog loved everything about Marianne: the warm fuzziness of the dandelion chestnut fluff at the top of her head, all the way to down to her spindly pink toesy. Her tinseled reserve in that frail body, by goblin standards, never failed to impress on the sparring court or in the bedroom. He had learned to respect the strength of the reed that could bend in the storm. 

“Absolutely.” His raspy broguish chuckle answered her challenge. Arms opened, his generous snaggle toothed mouth tugged into a lusty grin. “Show me what yah got, Tough Girl!” 

She smiled at his use of the monicker that he gave her the night she quite literally had nearly punched the living darkness out his face after he crashed the Elf Festival Dance that moonlit night when The Sugar Plum Fairy's love potion was stolen from him. From the minute her angry fist connected with his tree bark stubble jawline, he had been infatuated with this little bit of sprinting thistle down, with her silver sword and flash fire temper. 

Infatuation turned to terror; the moment she came crashing down at him threw the throne room sky lite, death wailing like river banshee at the loss her children. His iron wood staff of office met her sword with such a force that sparks flew when she demanded the release of her captive sister. Terror turned to begrudging respect; as they flew and fought, trading insults, and until they landed exhausted, unable to lift their weapons, but still angry to retort in unison that neither of them needed any help from Bog's concerned goblin servants.

Marianne thought so much had happened since then: rebuilding Bog's lost castle, his official duties to other the goblin tribes that she still wasn't versed in, the merging of Fairy Kingdom and The Dark Forest, the new responsibilities her father had thrust on her in order to make her a better queen when the time came, her own courtly obligations, weapons training, academia practice; these all had made their visits fewer and fewer. But, all the more special and despite their vast differences, they were going to make this relationship work. 

She had learned that under Bog's gruff carapace, bitterness, and insecurities; beat the heart of a pure romantic. A trait he was loath to admit he got watching his mother dote on his father. For all his razor edges, she was slowly navigating around those sharp thorns (sometimes through them when his thundering temper flared), and respect the authority of the sheathed blade as well as the scabbard that housed it.

“Marianne?” Bog's hands cradled her delicate face.

“Hmm, oh just thinking...”

“About what?”

She pressed her nose to his raven beaked one. “How … lucky I am...”

Everything was said in those fathomless summer blue eyes the held her in their gaze within his magnificently craggy lantern-jawed face. Her tiny hand is his always astonished him by how they vastly contrasted each other. Her fingertips, calloused from hours of honing her sword play, were taut against his rough lips as he kissed them. No pampered princesses for him: it was rough and tumble all the way. 

The bedroom door squeaked. In the crack of light, a small parrot-beaked goblin poked his head inside and whispered, “...sire?...”

“WHAT?” Bog hissed his displeasure. His shoulder plates flared and rattled like the end of sand viper's tail.

“Brutus is stuck in the tunnels...” the nervous guard cleared his throat, “ … again”

“So!” Bog turned his face to see his subject trembling in the threshold.

“... he keeps trying to eat the goblin miners ...you see Griselda's a little late with supper and ...”

Bog sighed heavily as the weight of his title as Goblin King, once again, interrupted love making with Marianne. He loved being king and adored his people, but at times it felt like he was the only sane, orderly being in the entire Dark Forest that could run this deranged kindergarten of well-meaning, but hapless minions. 

Marianne slide off as he edged his rangy body to the edge of the moss bed. His head cradled in his hands as he felt one of his migraines throbbing just behind his eyes under his brow scales. “Fine.” He stood elegantly and padded softly towards the waiting guard.

“I'll be right back.”

“I'll be here.”

The door closed with click and Marianne was left to her own devises. She stretched and yawned. Maybe a short nap would kill time. She upturned the hour glass on the walnut shell bed stand. She tried to sleep, but found her body was too active to rest. She walked around the room, gloriously naked, wings unfolded, to admire what Griselda had done with Bog's bedroom since she was last here. 

_When was the last time …? it had been too long … ___

Marianne plucked a book out the pile on the large desk. She settle back on the huge suspended bed to read about the war tactics of the Southern Kingdom, but found she couldn't concentrate. Her nether region itched like nettles on skin. She leafed through the boring text and tossed it aside. Marianne threw herself on her back, waiting impatiently for Bog to return ...and ended up counting how many twisted vines in single pleat that held the bed aloft. 

An hour passed at a glacier's pace.

Marianne turned the hourglass once more. She laid back with a stunted sigh and felt her hand exploring parts of her body that were aflame with an inner fire that had yet to be tended to. The fairy princess thought of her tall changeling lover with his bark-like appearance, wide cheekbones, jutting chin, and leaf-rigged horns that crowned his brow that cracked when he moved just so. 

_Krirritch! _She bite her lower lip as her nipples harden like beeswax in winter. That sound made her slick every time she heard it.__

_Even with a love potion, I was too hideous to love._

Those were Bog's exact words to her that fateful night. But he couldn't have been more wrong. If Roland hadn't of lead her father's army on his rescue mission: Marianne knew in her heart of hearts, if things had progressed as she wanted after her moonlit flight with Bog; she would have given into a temptation her body never thought possible.

She sat up and couldn't wait any longer. Her impatient fingers slid into the lotus blossom that opened at the thought of her lover. She was so busy that she never noticed the door creak slowly open.

“Bog,” she whispered, “nnn..need you...”

The Bog King watched with awe at this gorgeous creature in the mid of her pleasure, sighing his name. A sheen of sweat run down that delicate curve of breast as tiny moth rested on her nipple, wings folding as it licked the sweat off pale skin. Her own folded wings shivered in the light. The aching look in that angelic face was so inexorability hers; his heart quivered like a bow string's pull. 

“Bog?” Marianne stopped herself. Her long ears wilted in shame, then her wings flared open as she shouted at him. “I've been waiting for hours!”

_I never should have used a potion on that poor, sweet ... even if it had worked nothing would have been … ___

... real.

He just stood there drinking in the sight of … her. Three steps brought him to her side. 

_… is he mad that I started without him …? ___

“Marianne,” he breathed. Her cider eyes met his summer sky blue gaze that caressed her in palpable need. “You … are the most beautiful creature … ,“ his mouth met hers and sighed in the back his throat “.. . I have even seen.”

Words were empirical. Their joining dance filled them, as the primroses grow where light meets shadow, so did their love. 

Potion less.

Inexorably yours.

Butterfly kisses.

...touch …


End file.
